This is Baines, you'll be fagging for him Pevensie!!!
Title: Series: Edmund Pevensie's Schooldays Part 1/?: Make me proud
Pairing: Peter/Edmund (eventually)
Rating: This part is PG, will get progressively higher as we go along
Summary: Edmund gets sent to Whetstone, his older brother's school, where he discovers the traditions and general unpleasantness of it all. Can he find colour in all this grey?
Disclaimer: All made up, Whetstone is not a real place, none of the characters (except Ed and Peter of course) are based on anyone.
Warnings: Angst, violence (nothing too extreme), that's all for now (isn't that enough?)
Notes: It's not really AU because I can't write that, but it might as well be. I seem to have landed myself with a (rather lame) plot to simply get to somekindof smut, so if you can bear to bear with me...
I blame musinglibertine for her Fagging plot bunny
EDIT: Sorry for spamming with X-posting by the way, I never know where to post!
'I guess i've only got three simple things to say: Why me? Why this now? Why this way? With overtones ringing and undertows pulling away under a sky that is grey...'
Ani DiFranco~Grey
It didn’t matter how many times he said it, “I don’t want to” would never be enough for his father.
This was how Edmund found himself (leaving his sisters in tears on a cold platform in Finchley) pulling himself, battered suitcase in hand, up the steep flight of stone steps. He passed under a high arch made of pale stone, the walls simply leaking history like a bad smell around him. The last parting words of his parents echoed in his head, “Take this cake for your brother” (his mother’s face haggard with worry). “Make me proud Edmund” (his father distant, from a war that never quite showed him glory).
He hadn’t wanted to, he still didn’t want to, but that didn’t change the fact that he was here, following in the footsteps of the hardest act to follow since there ever was a golden king on the Narnian throne.
Edmund watched his feet move over the grey flagstones, wondering if he looked as small and frightened as he felt, deciding he would never admit that to any one, no matter what happened. He raised his head defiantly, trying to be ready for a battle, knowing he wasn’t looking for one.
Edmund felt the air leave his lungs as a sharp elbow appeared in his line of vision, pushing him against the wall.
“What’s your name, new boy?”
Edmund took the time to study his attacker, a relatively small and stocky boy with a ruddy face glared back at him. Not the brightest button in the box, thought Edmund, but still strong enough to break my arm in two.
“Why should I tell you?” he said, sneering back, praying with all his might his voice didn’t shake.
The boy simply grinned and pulled back his fist, Edmund screwed up his eyes, trapped and waiting for the blow to fall, but it never did. From behind his eyelids he could see a blur of gold, black and red. He heard the harsh tones of his would be attacker crying out in pain and willed himself to open his eyes. The bully was staggering, baring his fists and struggling to look up at his assailant. On doing so, the red faced boy pulled himself up, rolled his shoulders then sloped off down the corridor, breaking into an unsteady whistle a good distance off.
Edmund turned to face his saviour, hoping he could be humble enough for some kind of thanks but wanting to shout that he didn’t need rescuing, wanting to state his name, wanting to see who had the power to make boys turn and walk away.
“Peter!” Edmund stared at his brother, almost without recognition.
Peter had changed. He looked washed out; the vibrant blue of his eyes a slightly sickly grey, his golden hair straw like and sticking to his head. He looked thin, but not weak. His loss of weight showed the tone of muscle, highlighting a broad chest and strong arms.
Edmund had the childish urge to lurch forward and bury his face in the crook of his older brother’s neck, (like he had done so many times before) but something in the way Peter held himself, like an injured lion waiting to spring, made him hold back.
“Well you’re here!” Peter said flatly and Edmund nodded dumbly, this wasn’t exactly the greeting he had hoped for.
“You better get along to the Headmaster’s office, unless you want to get punished on your first day…” Peter looked at him questioningly.
Ed nodded again, feeling his brain rattle against his skull.
“I’ll see you later though?’ Edmund heard himself ask, uncertain and unsure (every bit a new boy).
It was Peter’s turn to nod now, before turning swiftly on his heels and walking away.
Edmund stood leaning against the stone wall for a full minute before he realised Peter hadn’t even spoken his name yet.
Edmund tried to listen to the Master in front of him, aiming for good first impression, but it soon became clear to him that the man didn’t care if he was listening or not. He barely looked at Edmund as he droned on monotonously. His whole face seemed to droop behind the steeple of his hands, wiry steel spectacles on his face failing to make his small puffy eyes any more accommodating.
Ed started to look about him, finding that the grey light that seemed to permeate Whetstone’s seeped through even into here. The only thing he could see of remote interest was a coat of arms on one wall, the faded colours betraying a past vibrancy of yellow and maroon squares. It was too dusty for him to read and the pictures on it had faded so much they looked like shapeless black blobs.
“And that’s how things have worked here for a hundred years, and how they’ll continue, as long as I’m in charge” the Master trailed off and Edmund whipped his head back round, eager to appear as though he had been listening intently
“Yes Sir” he risked, wondering if Master Otus was really aware of his presence.
The Master jumped a little in his chair, making it creak, moving his head slowly from side to side like an owl.
”Very well, Pevense you may go, Mr Stronzo will show you your dormitory and introduce you to your fellow students.”
Edmund got up quickly, already feeling his bones aching from the effort of sitting still for so long, and barely resisted the urge to mumble “It’s Pevensie.”
“This is Baines, you’ll be fagging for him Pevensie”.
It was not a question, it was an unquestionable statement and Edmund had gathered enough from Master Otus’s talk that Whetstone was holding strongly onto its traditions. Edmund was relieved to see that at least Baines wasn’t the red-faced boy that Peter had saved him from earlier. However, the picture that Baines presented was far from encouraging, he was tall and lanky, with a grey face with deep-set dark eyes. He looked down at Edmund grimly, pushing a greasy lock of black hair away from his face.
Stronzo’s heavy footsteps echoed away down the corridor and Edmund watched him go, his stomach sinking to the floor with something that could not be (but felt very like) fear.
Baines loomed over him, eyes raking from the top of Edmund’s brown messy hair, down his skinny body to the bottom of his scuffed school shoes.
“Looks like I’ve got me a runt here, what do you say Pevensie?”
Edmund stared at him, open mouthed, wondering if this detestable boy was expecting him to answer.
“Cat got your tongue has it?” Sneered Baines, “Well, I can deal with that soon enough. For now, you don’t need to speak to be able to clean my shoes, get down Pevensie”. Baines nodded towards the dusty stone floor. Edmund looked blankly at him, wondering if this was all a dream.
Baines growled, his lanky limbs moving deceptively fast, slamming his fist into Edmund’s face. Edmund reeled, hearing the crack of bone against bone and tottered a little, managing to stay on his feet, but only just.
“Now are you going to do as I ask?” Baines looked at him, black eyes flashing like steel.
Edmund shook his head, remembering the feel of a solid throne under his fingers, and drew himself up regally, before he felt the brush of metal, something cold and wet trickling down his cheek and his vision faded to black.
End of Part one
Pairing: Peter/Edmund (eventually)
Rating: This part is PG, will get progressively higher as we go along
Summary: Edmund gets sent to Whetstone, his older brother's school, where he discovers the traditions and general unpleasantness of it all. Can he find colour in all this grey?
Disclaimer: All made up, Whetstone is not a real place, none of the characters (except Ed and Peter of course) are based on anyone.
Warnings: Angst, violence (nothing too extreme), that's all for now (isn't that enough?)
Notes: It's not really AU because I can't write that, but it might as well be. I seem to have landed myself with a (rather lame) plot to simply get to somekindof smut, so if you can bear to bear with me...
I blame musinglibertine for her Fagging plot bunny
EDIT: Sorry for spamming with X-posting by the way, I never know where to post!
'I guess i've only got three simple things to say: Why me? Why this now? Why this way? With overtones ringing and undertows pulling away under a sky that is grey...'
Ani DiFranco~Grey
It didn’t matter how many times he said it, “I don’t want to” would never be enough for his father.
This was how Edmund found himself (leaving his sisters in tears on a cold platform in Finchley) pulling himself, battered suitcase in hand, up the steep flight of stone steps. He passed under a high arch made of pale stone, the walls simply leaking history like a bad smell around him. The last parting words of his parents echoed in his head, “Take this cake for your brother” (his mother’s face haggard with worry). “Make me proud Edmund” (his father distant, from a war that never quite showed him glory).
He hadn’t wanted to, he still didn’t want to, but that didn’t change the fact that he was here, following in the footsteps of the hardest act to follow since there ever was a golden king on the Narnian throne.
Edmund watched his feet move over the grey flagstones, wondering if he looked as small and frightened as he felt, deciding he would never admit that to any one, no matter what happened. He raised his head defiantly, trying to be ready for a battle, knowing he wasn’t looking for one.
Edmund felt the air leave his lungs as a sharp elbow appeared in his line of vision, pushing him against the wall.
“What’s your name, new boy?”
Edmund took the time to study his attacker, a relatively small and stocky boy with a ruddy face glared back at him. Not the brightest button in the box, thought Edmund, but still strong enough to break my arm in two.
“Why should I tell you?” he said, sneering back, praying with all his might his voice didn’t shake.
The boy simply grinned and pulled back his fist, Edmund screwed up his eyes, trapped and waiting for the blow to fall, but it never did. From behind his eyelids he could see a blur of gold, black and red. He heard the harsh tones of his would be attacker crying out in pain and willed himself to open his eyes. The bully was staggering, baring his fists and struggling to look up at his assailant. On doing so, the red faced boy pulled himself up, rolled his shoulders then sloped off down the corridor, breaking into an unsteady whistle a good distance off.
Edmund turned to face his saviour, hoping he could be humble enough for some kind of thanks but wanting to shout that he didn’t need rescuing, wanting to state his name, wanting to see who had the power to make boys turn and walk away.
“Peter!” Edmund stared at his brother, almost without recognition.
Peter had changed. He looked washed out; the vibrant blue of his eyes a slightly sickly grey, his golden hair straw like and sticking to his head. He looked thin, but not weak. His loss of weight showed the tone of muscle, highlighting a broad chest and strong arms.
Edmund had the childish urge to lurch forward and bury his face in the crook of his older brother’s neck, (like he had done so many times before) but something in the way Peter held himself, like an injured lion waiting to spring, made him hold back.
“Well you’re here!” Peter said flatly and Edmund nodded dumbly, this wasn’t exactly the greeting he had hoped for.
“You better get along to the Headmaster’s office, unless you want to get punished on your first day…” Peter looked at him questioningly.
Ed nodded again, feeling his brain rattle against his skull.
“I’ll see you later though?’ Edmund heard himself ask, uncertain and unsure (every bit a new boy).
It was Peter’s turn to nod now, before turning swiftly on his heels and walking away.
Edmund stood leaning against the stone wall for a full minute before he realised Peter hadn’t even spoken his name yet.
Edmund tried to listen to the Master in front of him, aiming for good first impression, but it soon became clear to him that the man didn’t care if he was listening or not. He barely looked at Edmund as he droned on monotonously. His whole face seemed to droop behind the steeple of his hands, wiry steel spectacles on his face failing to make his small puffy eyes any more accommodating.
Ed started to look about him, finding that the grey light that seemed to permeate Whetstone’s seeped through even into here. The only thing he could see of remote interest was a coat of arms on one wall, the faded colours betraying a past vibrancy of yellow and maroon squares. It was too dusty for him to read and the pictures on it had faded so much they looked like shapeless black blobs.
“And that’s how things have worked here for a hundred years, and how they’ll continue, as long as I’m in charge” the Master trailed off and Edmund whipped his head back round, eager to appear as though he had been listening intently
“Yes Sir” he risked, wondering if Master Otus was really aware of his presence.
The Master jumped a little in his chair, making it creak, moving his head slowly from side to side like an owl.
”Very well, Pevense you may go, Mr Stronzo will show you your dormitory and introduce you to your fellow students.”
Edmund got up quickly, already feeling his bones aching from the effort of sitting still for so long, and barely resisted the urge to mumble “It’s Pevensie.”
“This is Baines, you’ll be fagging for him Pevensie”.
It was not a question, it was an unquestionable statement and Edmund had gathered enough from Master Otus’s talk that Whetstone was holding strongly onto its traditions. Edmund was relieved to see that at least Baines wasn’t the red-faced boy that Peter had saved him from earlier. However, the picture that Baines presented was far from encouraging, he was tall and lanky, with a grey face with deep-set dark eyes. He looked down at Edmund grimly, pushing a greasy lock of black hair away from his face.
Stronzo’s heavy footsteps echoed away down the corridor and Edmund watched him go, his stomach sinking to the floor with something that could not be (but felt very like) fear.
Baines loomed over him, eyes raking from the top of Edmund’s brown messy hair, down his skinny body to the bottom of his scuffed school shoes.
“Looks like I’ve got me a runt here, what do you say Pevensie?”
Edmund stared at him, open mouthed, wondering if this detestable boy was expecting him to answer.
“Cat got your tongue has it?” Sneered Baines, “Well, I can deal with that soon enough. For now, you don’t need to speak to be able to clean my shoes, get down Pevensie”. Baines nodded towards the dusty stone floor. Edmund looked blankly at him, wondering if this was all a dream.
Baines growled, his lanky limbs moving deceptively fast, slamming his fist into Edmund’s face. Edmund reeled, hearing the crack of bone against bone and tottered a little, managing to stay on his feet, but only just.
“Now are you going to do as I ask?” Baines looked at him, black eyes flashing like steel.
Edmund shook his head, remembering the feel of a solid throne under his fingers, and drew himself up regally, before he felt the brush of metal, something cold and wet trickling down his cheek and his vision faded to black.
End of Part one